


You Broke Him, You Fix Him

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Gods love to take a fool sometimes, as kings often take jesters, but sometimes, those fools become legends. When a broken man is left at the foot of the Seven, a hand is extended to one, Theon Greyjoy.<br/>'What is your name, boy? Greyjoy...Stark...or Reek..?'<br/>Real men chose their own names. "<br/>-- In which Reek quests for his identity back --</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Broke Him, You Fix Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perverted-mephisto](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=perverted-mephisto).



> Author's Note: Writing this on a dare and a whim so don't expect it to be good. An adventure in which Reek quests for his identity back. And his penis. I have zero affiliation with the official Game of Thrones

How was this a Greyjoy? How was this - her brother? He didn't even answer to his name anymore. If father didn't hate him before, he did now - the way Theon's eyes were perpetually bugged, the way his neck cricked to the left and he could no longer raise his head proudly and strongly - the way a Greyjoy should. But, where Lord Greyjoy felt anger and disgust, Yara could only feel sadness, and rage directed toward the bastard - Ramsay Snow. How could he have broken her brother in such a way that he didn't even remember who he was? Every time Yara asked for something simple, he treated it as an order, sarcasm and humour went over Theon's head and he was no longer a sword-happy ball of anger that could be easily triggered, but instead, was a shrivelling mess - constantly preparing for a blow that would not occur. He was like a child berated one too often, a tortured mess, which - despite however much Yara sympathised for him, she could not take constant breaks from her duties to babysit her mess of a brother - all she could do was order him to stay out of Lord Greyjoy's sight for his own safety, and occasionally send prayer to the Old Gods and New. But she knew as well as her father knew, that he was broken past a point of no return, and the Theon they had barely come to know, would likely never come back to them.  
There was only Reek, humble simple serving boy.

He remembered some things though - from his life before - things he did while he still knew himself as Theon Greyjoy, he could remember little of war, but mainly being a ward under the Starks. Harmless, childhood memories that he had tried to hate and push from his mind were now one of few things he had mental access too, and being who he was - Reek - he felt like a man with another's memories. He didn't understand, and he envied the little boy he remembered, wishing it could be him. He didn't like being Reek, but being Reek was the only way he knew to spare himself pain. Every night he expected to be woken by the sound of a horn, deprived of sleep, in every corner he expected to see the face of his old master, Ramsay Snow. Every hour he sat in fear of being stolen from his home.  
It was at this point, Yara could only offer him comforts that were oft spared for children or the desperate - the comfort of praying to Gods.  
So, Reek sat on the end of a bed that he felt was far too good for him, holding a prayer wheel, unsure entirely of what to do with it. He'd prayed to the Old Gods and the New to be saved and it had never worked. The Gods had never saved Theon Greyjoy - so why would they save Reek?

 

Then again, Theon had been a power-hungry fool of a man, easily seduced, easily tricked - and deep down, a boy that had saught to prove himself.  
Reek was simply Reek. Worthless little Reek. Ugly little Reek. Piss poor Reek who wasn't very good at being a serving boy. Smelly little Reek - that's why his old master gave him the name. Pathetic Reek. Why would the Gods help Reek if they would not help a brave warrior?

The answer, is far simpler than one would think.

Reek had learned humility. Reek had learned to respect his betters. Things he had not done as Theon Greyjoy.  
Oh, Reek was broken, that much was for sure, but as Theon Greyjoy, each moral lesson had been an upward battle, each decision pended on the whims of a fool who didn't know if he was a Greyjoy or a Stark. The mighty may have fallen, and fallen hard - but now that he was broken, he could be repaired - from the ground up. But no human hand could undo the damage done by a monster, not damage that ran this deeply.  
This required the hands of Gods, who so seldom ever trifled in the affairs of mortals, but as Kings often take jesters, even Gods like to take fools sometimes, and Reek - was the perfect fool.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Reek had been stolen from his bed, but not by Ramsay Snow - as he so often feared. No, he was sitting on the floors of the forest, far away from home and the Iron Islands. A place where Wildlings would be - he had no idea where, or how he got there - maybe Yara gave up on him and dumped him there in the night - Reek wouldn't blame her. He didn't even have his shoes on, he had nothing - if Yara was to dump him, she'd probably have left him with some supplies to -try- to survive - would Yara really be so cruel? All he had, was the prayer wheel that he kept at his bedside.

 

_"Just kill me, please!"_

 

Reek jumped - it was his voice. His voice verbatim - echoing through the forest. He looked around, terror gripping him as he shook and tried to make himself as small as possible, shrinking next to the large oak tree behind him.

He hadn't said those words, he had said nothing since he got there.

He hadn't said those words in a while, he remembered when he'd said it too - in the before-times.

Trembling, Reek's bugged eyes glanced up at the source of where the echo had come from, he saw nothing - but a chill came over him.

Gripping the prayer wheel tightly, he sat at the base of the tree on curled branches, whimpering, until an icy sensation raised the hairs on the back of his neck and settled on his shoulder. Suddenly, Reek was very, very scared to glance to his left, to the source of the feeling. Instead, he shook and he cried quietly, with the keen, unexplainable sensation that he was going to die.

 

**"Do you still wish to die?"**

 

Reek cried, neck further cricking downward, too terrified to answer. The voice was hard to pinpoint, it was neither male nor female, just a cold, chilling whisper in his ear - asking him if he wanted to live or die.

 

**"Do you still wish to die?"**

 

It asked again, patiently.

Did Reek want to live? He didn't even know, he was abandoned in a forest somewhere, he didn't think he'd live either way, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to anymore.

 

"R-Reek d-doesn't know," he squeaked, eyes watering heavily. The hand moved from his shoulder, and the cloaked sleeve extended over his body and settled onto the prayer wheel in his trembling hands, it was at this point that Reek could see the hand was skeletal - like a White Walker, and was ghosting over the various effigies of the Seven, until settling on the darkest, more torn of the effigies.

It was then, that on some primal level, Reek knew who he was in the presence of, and never felt so small in his life than he did right then.

This, was The Stranger. God of Death, representing the unknown.

 

"A-Are you here to k-kill Reek?" he asked feebly.

 

**"If you so desire,"** The Stranger whispered, gently picking his effigy off the prayer wheel and taking it into his skeletal grip, turning it into soft black ash that slipped into the wind, pouring through his bony grip. There was a child's rumour that if an effigy of a God disappeared, someone had summoned it, and Reek must have woke the most dangerous of the Seven - as he'd witnessed The Stranger destroy his own effigy. Reek didn't still fully understand why this was happening, or why The Stranger did that, but he didn't question it. Questions were not Reek's place to ask.

**"I'm here to offer you a choice, I do not seldom offer choices. Only death,"**

Reek shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut.

**"Today, you will either die, or learn to live,"**

 

Reek was horribly confused, but in the presence of The Stranger, he was now sure - he didn't want to die. Reek didn't want to die. Not anymore. Reek wanted to live. He had Yara. 

"Reek w-wants to live! But w-why d-do you want to help Reek? It is not Reek's place to ask, but why?"

He braced himself for a blow, or to die, but instead, The Stranger seemed to lessen in the harshness of it's whisper, as though trying to be tender. A God that not many would assume would ever do so.  

**"I could take your life, or you could rise to take many more. I ride on the backs of wars, I am the right hand of those who bring Death. You could bring so much, if this is truly your choice,"**

Reek nodded hesitantly, he was no warrior, he was no major player in this war - not anymore, he was simply Reek. The serving boy. Slave. But if The Stranger said he could do more, who was he to question a God? He was nobody.

The Stranger was offering to be the right hand of the shrivelling, pathetic mess - and the moment he nodded, the bony hand took Reek's - clasping around it so tight that it hurt. The hand that was missing it's littlest finger from his old master's tortures was being stripped of it's flesh, falling like ash to the wind. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But Reek was no stranger to pain.

When The Stranger released it, Reek's hand too - was bony, horrific, but no longer missing it's smallest finger, a long bone that Reek didn't think he'd ever see was there. The man went pale, it was not a pretty sight, and with his fleshy he hand he touched it and felt nothing. The bony hand felt no pain, and under his undamaged hand, it felt soft under the touch, like smooth marble.

**"Then follow,"**

And with that, Reek followed the black, cloaked figure through the woods, which he began to suspect, were not a part of Westeros at all.

 


End file.
